


Panic

by coraxes



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Mae Tabris, No actual sex, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5219879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coraxes/pseuds/coraxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair's still a virgin only mostly because of his sparkling personality.</p><p>(The Warden asks Alistair to join her in her tent before they meet Goldanna; Alistair says yes.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Panic

The fire in the middle of camp has almost burnt out by the time Alistair finishes his watch and wakes Sten.  He tosses a little more kindling at it and—oh.  “Damn,” he says.  The fire’s gone out.  

 

Sten gives him a flat look and sighs deeply through his nose.  It’s the sort of look that means “I’d roll my eyes at you, but I’m far too mature to be bothered.”  Alistair’s gotten a lot of those in his time.  He knows them when he sees them.  He just gives Sten a sheepish grin in return and turns back to his tent.

 

“Hey, Alistair,” the voice—Mae’s voice, a little shy, catches his attention.  She’s peering out of her tent, eyes gleaming yellow in the dark. She glances at Sten, who’s rekindling the fire and not paying them any attention.  Mae smirks at him, that same cocky grin he’s come to know and love these last few months, and asks, “Do you want to join me in my tent?”

 

Alistair sucks in a breath; his skin flashes hot, and for a second he has no idea what to say.  Because she’s just propositioning him like it’s no big deal at all.  He supposes he should have expected this; they’ve been flirting and kissing and for the last several weeks, and even he knows one thing leads to another.  So the only thing he should say is, well, “I—yes?”

 

Mae’s eyebrow climbs higher up her forehead.  “That a question?”

 

“No?”  It’s on purpose this time.  He likes to make her laugh.

 

He gets one, a little throaty chuckle, and she jerks her head back toward her tent.  “Well, come on then,” she says, and disappears inside.  

 

Oh Maker.

 

This is actually happening.  

 

 _Don’t just stand there, you ass_ , Alistair tells himself, and quickly ducks under the tent flap.

 

He can barely make out Mae’s shape.  She’s just more opaque darkness against the black backdrop of her tent with little pinpricks of yellow for her eyes.  Something in the way her head is tilted reminds him of a puppy.  “Hi,” she says.

 

“Hello,” says Alistair, grinning at her, and then they both start giggling. “Oh, c’mere.”  He sits heavily on his knees in front of her and reaches approximately for her chin, guiding their mouths together clumsily in the near-complete darkness of the tent.  

 

Kissing—he can do kissing.  They’ve done that before.  She’s better at it than he is, more experienced, but he’s been learning how she likes it too.  He winds his fingers through her hair and resting his other hand awkwardly on the ground, propping him up where he’s half-leaning over to kiss her

 

“Hold on,” she says after a moment, whispering.  Alistair’s confused for a moment before he remembers—Sten’s out there.  Awake. They’re going to _have sex_  where  _Sten_  might hear them.  Oh, Maker.

 

Well—maybe they can be quiet, he thinks, and suddenly Mae’s leaning back, tugging on his arm to pull him down with her, her legs bracketing his.  “Oh,” Alistair squeaks ( _right, very manly_ ).  Because he’s on top of her.  He can feel her soft breasts pushing against his chest through their tunics, the warm heat of her body, and her breath tickling his face. His heart’s beating so hard he’s surprised that she can’t hear it.  

 

“Mmhmm,” she says absently.  Mae leans up to kiss him again, softly at first and then more hungrily, her hands skimming along his ribs.  She has  _definitely_  done this before, and he’s just trying to figure out how to prop himself up and grope at the same time.

 

(Anyway,  _grope_  is such a nasty-sounding word, not something he’d want to do to her, and  _this is not the time for him to be thinking about that._ )

 

He settles for one hand on her waist at first, and then moves it up because—they’re having sex, right?  He’s supposed to be able to touch things?  He hasn’t before—and his hand hovers awkwardly above one of her breasts for a second before Mae laughs and presses her hand on top of his, encouraging him.  Alistair can’t help it; he groans and squeezes a little, and also, he has no idea what to do with this.  

 

Mae reaches for the bottom of his tunic and starts to tug it up, and he still has no idea what he’s doing, and he cares about her but—

 

“Stop,” he says, a little too loud, too panicky.  Mae freezes instantly.  The arm he’s been propping himself on is shaking; Alistair realizes he’s still got a handful of, well,  _her_ , so he lets go and rests that arm on the ground instead.  He drops his forehead down to rest on her sleeping roll.  “I’m—I’m sorry, I’m an idiot.”

 

Because really, what’s he doing? He should want this, right?  He cares about her, and Maker knows she’s attractive.  He flashes her a quick grin and belatedly realizes she can’t see it.  “Just—ignore me, let’s keep going.”  

 

Of course that doesn’t work.  He’s ruined the moment.   _Good job, Alistair._

 

 “No—Alistair, what’s wrong?”

 

Alistair’s face is flaming with embarrassment; he rolls off her with a groan. “I can’t do this.”

 

“It felt like you could—”

 

Too late, he realizes what that sounds like, and winces.  “Not that.  I mean, I can physically.  You’re gorgeous, you know.  I’m just not ready.”  He sits up quickly.  “I’m sorry, this is stupid.  I’ll just go. Now.  Sorry.”

 

Mae sits up too.  “Stop apologizing.  It’s okay to be nervous,” she says, and pats his knee.  “You don’t have to go just because of that.”

 

How is he supposed to explain this?  It barely makes sense to him.  He’s twenty- _fucking_ -three and he’s a virgin, and now he’s found a girl he likes and he can’t—won’t—have sex with her.  “It’s not like I can wait thirty minutes and then be good to go, Mae.  It’s not that kind of  _not ready_.”

 

There’s a beat of silence.  “Well, what kind is it, then?”  He hesitates, wondering how to explain it.  “Alistair, I’m not just in this for your body.  You can talk to me.”

 

Alistair rubs at his eyes; it feels like all his muscles have been tense since he walked into the tent, and now that he’s finally relaxing he’s exhausted. “I always heard this was a big deal, and—I wasn’t waiting to be married or anything, but I guess I always wanted my first time to be special.  Not that you’re not special!  I just. I don’t know.  I’m not ready for this yet.”

 

Mae squeezes his knee.  “Then we don’t have to do it.  I wouldn’t have asked if I’d realized; I know I’m pushing a bit fast.  We haven’t really even known each other that long.”

 

“You’re not pushing!  It’s not you, you’re perfect,” Alistair says, and blushes harder.   He hadn’t thought that was possible.  “’m sorry, I’m just going to go back to my tent before I make an even bigger fool of myself.”

 

“Alistair,” she says, and now she just sounds exasperated.  Even better. One good thing about this whole damned Blight and he’s gone and— “You don’t have to go.”

 

“What?”

 

He can see her shrug, just barely.  “We can still sleep together.  Actually sleep, not just—”  She sighs.  “Me and my cousins used to all crowd together on one bunk.  I kind of miss the company.  So if that’s not too much, then…”

 

Something in him warms at the idea.  No pressure, no expectations, just…sleeping.  “No, that’s great,” he says in a big rush of air. He chuckles, more from relief than anything else.  She still likes him.  They’re fine, and he hasn’t screwed everything up again.

 

Mae nods—what he wouldn’t give to see her expression right then.

 

They both stretch out on her sleeping roll, him on his back, her half on top of him with her cheek resting against his chest.  “Goodnight,” he says, and sleepily kisses the top of her hair. “And thanks.”

 

Mae just hums her acceptance and squeezes his side a little.

 

(In the morning, Alistair worried it would be awkward—but all that happened was Mae looked at him blearily and said, “You didn’t tell me you snored.”)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/criticism welcome!


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